Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It's probably more accurate to say this fandom owns me.
Warning: Dark; Language; AU
-BB-
Stages of Disintegration
Ch. 4
Kelly is a different kind of trophy daughter when it comes to her dad. Sheila always expects the full functioning Barbie complete with the sickeningly sweet pre-recorded voice, never allowed to disobey. Sheila gives orders and expects her daughter to carry through. With her father, a distinguished Mr. Alan Parker, all he expects is for Kelly to sit, quiet and pretty like a little doll in a case.
"So, your mom seemed to be in one of her moods," Alan tells her. Him behind the wheel of the sports car he bought after the divorce, Kelly in the front seat, smoothing the creases from her pretty dress. "I expected her to at least put up a fight when I asked if you'd come to dinner with me tonight. She seemed particularly venomous towards you. Anything I should know about?"
A returned journal. A broken spell. The silent treatment.
"Why do you care?" Kelly asks. "It's not like you'll take me from her. You don't want me to live with her, but you don't want me to live with you either. What's the point in pretending you care?"
"Kelly, don't make it sound like that," he says. "The only reason I'd rather you live with your mother is because I'm always working and I don't want you alone all the time. Of course, I want to know. You're still my daughter. I still care."
Translation: You're attached to the Parker name; therefore, I'm obligated to own up to you.
"Do they have a case?" Kelly questions. She brings them back to neutral ground, something impersonal that they can talk about. His area of expertise—the law. "Max's parents. That's why you're really back, right? The Russo family calls and you come running."
"They certainly aren't a family you mess with," he responds. "Like I told Don, I deal in criminal law, not so much DUI, injury law or whatever this is, but as a friend of the family, Don asked for my opinion, possibly a referral and I'm going to honor that. Generally, the family can bring a lawsuit against either or both the person driving the car Max was in and the person driving the other car. Any negligent driver can be sued when a passenger is injured. The key is the presence of any violation of traffic laws or lack of due care. From the details I've gotten so far, I'd assume fault will be apportioned by a judge jury as is common with cases like this."
An image of Lauren Tanner on the stand flashes in Kelly's head. Quickly followed by one of Lauren being hauled off by the bailiff, being made some dyke's bitch in a women's jail.
"Do you think they'll go through with it?" she asks.
Her father sighs. "Max's mom won't want to. Don says she's already broken up and no one can blame her, losing her son that way. And Malcolm, Max's father, he's just angry. Max was only nineteen. What's that? Three years older than you? I don't know what I'd do if you were in that car that night. It's not right. Parents having to burry their children."
Alan looks so choked up, orange highway lights illuminating his face for only seconds at a time as they drive. The scary part is that he looks like he means it. Kelly doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride and neither does he.
The Russo Family always reminded Kelly of one of those old-school gangster movies with their pressed suits and their glasses of wine, that cool, air of detachment and obvious Italian descent. Kelly has met the family a number of times before, but only saw Nicky's grandparents once at his mother's funeral. She also knows (overheard from her parents) that his grandma passed away a few years back. She expects his grandpa to be there; flown out to stand by his family through the tragedy, sitting at the head of the table, but that isn't so.
The Russo family is compromised of three siblings and their children. There's Nicky's father, Donovan, Max's mother, Gina, and their oldest brother, Sal, who has four grown children of his own, all boys, one married with a child and the others in their late twenties. They're all gorgeous, strong-jawed and dark-haired. Then there's Malcolm Spencer, an Englishman, one of the biggest names in the advertisement world, never without a glass of scotch.
Kelly always remembers loud chatter and constantly teasing at the Russo table, but dinner is oddly quiet, other than the clang of silverware, the men and their small talk. The only time Kelly looks up from her plate is to politely answer a question or glance at Nicky. No one else at the table acknowledges him, not once. Nicky has always had this intensity about him and tonight, it radiates off him in waves. He keeps it all shelled up inside, building and building.
They get through almost an entire evening without talking about Max until time for dessert. They start to talk about their plans to ship the body back to New York and how they've already made arrangements with a funeral director there. Nicky loudly drops his fork against his plate, making heads turn.
"He has friends here, you know," Nicky speaks up. "They should at least get a chance to see him before you ship him home. At least do something for them. Give them some kind of closure."
Max's dad scowls. "Friends? You mean, friends who he was drinking with that night at that party. The girl who was driving, who stopped in the middle of an intersection, you're telling me she was his friend? Don't be ridiculous, Nicholas. He barely knew these Colorado kids. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner we get him away from this place, the better." Malcolm reaches over and takes his wife's hand. "We're bringing our boy home. He'll be back with the family."
"Family," Nicky says with disgust. "He isn't even getting one of the Russo plots. Grandpa bought out the whole north side of the hill to keep the family together so why aren't we burying Max next to grandma? Uncle Mal, you had to buy Max a plot on the other side of the cemetery. My mom is closer to grandma and she wasn't blood or Italian. Max was both. Why won't grandpa let us burry Max with the rest of the family?"
"My God, Nicky," Sal says in a deep, terrifying voice. "Donovan, do you hear your kid right now, at the dinner table? For Christ's sake, Don, control your son."
"Nicky," his father calls to him. "Enough."
"You people can't even talk about it," Nicky says venomously. "That's just sad."
"You don't get to talk," Malcolm says angrily. His wife squeezes his hand, begging him not to, but the rage is all consuming. "The only reason you're acting out is because of your stupid gymnastics. Grow up, Nicholas. My son is death and it's just an inconvenience to you, isn't it? Your cousin is dead and you just want to roll him into the nearest hole so you can go on with your own life. Not only is that selfish, it's shameful."
The silence suffocates, sucks the oxygen out of the room. No one even takes a breath. How could they?
Nicky looks up, darkly. "At least I accepted Max when he was alive. You're still denying who he was and he's dead."
There's practically cartoon steam coming out of Malcolm's ears, but before he can say anything, Nicky throws his chair back and walks out of the room. The dinner room is less suffocating, but extremely awkward as Gina wipes at her tears and the men distribute another round of alcohol. Kelly quietly excuses herself and follows after Nicky, watching him grab his keys.
"I can't be here," Nicky tells her tightly. He grabs Kelly's coat from the rack and holds it out to her—an invitation. Kelly slowly walks to Nicky and turns around, letting him help her slip it on. He leads her out to the garage and tosses her the keys, which she scrambles to catch. Nicky goes around to the passenger side while Kelly stands there, confused.
"You want me to drive?"
"No. I just gave you the keys to hold," he sarcastically snipes. She narrows her eyes, not liking his tone, and after rubbing his hand down his face, Nicky gives a heavy sigh. He goes back around and yanks on the driver's side door, motioning her inside. "The way I am right now, where my head's at, I can't get behind the wheel if you're in the car with me. It's one thing to do something stupid on my own. I won't knowingly drag you into it. Please drive, Parks?"
There's something so considerate about that, way more than she'd expect from Nicky Russo, but there's also something scary lurking beneath his words. What if she wasn't going to be in the car with him? Would he be driving as they speak? Where would he end up?
"Fine," Kelly says, hopping into his SUV. "But only because you actually said please." Kelly pulls the seatbelt across her chest and waits for Nicky to get into the seat beside her. "Where are we going?"
"Just drive."
"Nick, I can't drive if I don't know where to."
"Kelly, just please. Don't. I can't right now. Just, anywhere you want," he says. She adjusts the seat and starts the engine. As an afterthought, Nicky adds, "Somewhere far."
Nodding, Kelly drives away from the Victorian house, past the gate and out into the street. She quickly finds the highway and heads out of Boulder. For a long time they don't say anything. Kelly glances over at him from time to time, but his expression is so far away, practically in another world. She doesn't even try to read him. She just waits.
There are these layers to Nicky Russo. Layers of cold, shiny metal similar to her own layers (except Kelly's is made of plastic laid over stone) and Nicky tries to come off as this cold, precise robot with the metal casing to prove it. However, since he's been back, Kelly has noticed his armor starting to deteriorate. A little at the coffee shop. At the Rock. At dinner. Now. He'll weaken till he goes haywire.
Kelly can't go into why, but she wants someone to be there for him. She wants to be that someone. Like she'd want someone to be there for her. It isn't an expectation. They're barely even friends. It's more of a want and maybe a wish.
"I love my family, I do," he finally says. "But fuck do they make me angry." Nicky leans forward and pulls open the glove compartment. He grabs a little orange bottle, slides out a little pill. He reaches for a bottle in the holder, tosses back the pill and takes a swig of water. Kelly wants to ask what that is, but she doesn't. "Where are we going?" he suddenly asks.
Kelly laughs. "You're seriously asking me that right now? I have no fucking idea."
"Good," Nicky says. She can't tell if he's amused that they're going nowhere fast or that she swore. Kelly's mom would always remind her foul language wasn't lady-like and so as kids, Nicky did everything he could to try to make her.
After fighting with his seatbelt, Nicky kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his dress shirt, carelessly tossing it into the backseat, only wearing this tight white wifebeater underneath. Grinding her teeth, Kelly admires his sculpted gymnast arms for a second before her eyes return to the road. Sighing, Nicky repositions himself, lying on his side to face her and tucking his arms beneath his head like a pillow. Every time Kelly glances over, his eyes are closed.
"Is your favorite Disney movie still Aladdin?" Nicky asks.
Kelly hasn't thought about Aladdin in a long time. "I guess. How do you even remember that?"
"How could I forget? Remember, our parents would have those excruciating dinner things? They paled in comparison to tonight, but they were still horrible. Your mom and my dad would argue afterwards because she wanted to be my manager. Meanwhile, you and me, we'd watch Disney movies."
"With the volume pushed to the—" Kelly stops herself from finishing that. "Loud. To drown out them arguing." She inwardly curses and readjusts her sweaty palms against the steering wheel. "Too bad my mom got rid of my VHS collection. It was pretty badass."
"It was," Nicky agrees. "We watched Aladdin at least a hundred times." Nicky must have opened his eyes because she feels him looking at her. "I remember you told me Aladdin was your favorite because you liked watching the sheltered girl run away from the palace and see what's on the outside. And that when we grew up you were going to do the same."
Even at an early age, Kelly knew her mom purposefully steered her away from a normal life, instead always keeping her at home or in the gym, minimal contact with potential influences that might tell her there's more to the world than gymnastics. But Kelly knew anyways. How could she not? She's always identified with Jasmine in that way—stubborn, headstrong, sheltered. It's a little sad, but true nonetheless.
"Remember what I use to tell you?"
With how long ago this happened, Kelly wouldn't expect to remember, but she does.
"That when you found a magic carpet, I'd be the first one you called."
"Wow, you remember," he says quietly, like he's genuinely surprised. "I don't know. My car isn't much of a magic carpet, but it'll have to do…then, of course, you'd tell me I'm not cute enough to play Aladdin." They share a laugh, but when the silence follows, Kelly feels him getting farther and farther away without ever moving. "Max, he, uh, he liked Oliver and Company."
"That's the one with the kitten and the stray dogs and the hobo, right?"
"Right. I remember this one summer. Our parents drag us out to the Hamptons house for a wedding. I was irritable because I'd rather be in the gym. Max, he vows to teach me how to be fun. Failed, naturally, because Max's level of laidback was something I've only ever seen in him and, well, I'm me. I don't know. Anyways, we came across these stupid kids torturing this poor, old one-eyed cat. God, I've never seen Max lose his cool like that before. He scared them off and spent the rest of the summer taking care of the cat. I don't know. Sometimes I'd think he had an easier time connecting with animals than he did people. You'd get it if you spent more time around him…or maybe not. Max did like his secrets."
"You two were close, weren't you?"
Nicky shrugs. "We always kinda hung around each other at family things because everyone else was either a lot older than us or a lot younger, which, now that I think about it, was a lame reason. Max could be such an asshole. I remember he'd always call me Bambi."
Because of his mom.
"That's horrible," Kelly says firmly.
"Yeah, it sort of is." Nicky chuckles. "So, why haven't you asked me yet?"
"Asked you what?"
"About what we were talking about back at the house."
Simple: she doesn't want to know. But knowing must be apart of being someone's someone because even in the dark, she can feel how desperate he is to open up, to let it out into the world, to tell someone so it'll stop eating him alive.
"Do you want me to ask you?"
Nicky loudly exhales. "I haven't planned that far ahead yet. This, hanging out with you, just me being here, losing Max…none of this is apart of the plan. I—I'm still trying to figure it out."
Car sounds aside, the silence filters in, mixed with tension. He's so wound up. She can feel it. It makes her antsy. "Nick," Kelly says softly. "If you want to cry…just cry. There's nothing wrong with it. I…I cry. Sometimes."
Nicky shifts and looks at her in this way that's so full of respect, like he acknowledges how hard it was for her to admit that, especially to him.
"Thanks, but Russo men don't cry," he whispers hoarsely. Nicky reclines the seat a little and curls up the best he can. "I'm just…I'm gonna close my eyes. You just keep driving."
"I still have no idea where we're going," Kelly reminds him.
"Perfect."
…
After the whirlwind situation her mother put her in, leaving her a helpless child, Lauren has always made sure to have a choice in everything that happened to her after. As a little girl, if she didn't want to wear the pink dress, she could easily say so and Steve would let her wear the red one. She wanted to commit fully to gymnastics and Steve said okay, got her into the prestigious Rock. After leaving the hospital, all Lauren wants is to stay locked up in her room and Steve lets her. No questions asked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Lauren? You have a visitor…"
The door slowly creaks open. Light slowly leaks into her dark room. Creeping. Illuminating. Lauren doesn't move from where she is, beneath the sheets, motionless among pillows and an old stuffed unicorn, faded and missing a button eye. It's obvious she's had it for years and it's been through the spin cycle at least a dozen times. Lauren rounds her arms around it and shuts her eyes when the light snaps on.
"Daddy, if it's Summer, I swear…"
No. It isn't. When Lauren turns over to see who it is, it's her coach. It's Sasha.
Her first instinct is to straighten her hair that's in a high ponytail or fix the way her oversize t-shirt clings to her body, but she can't bring herself to. After all, Sasha has seen her at her worst, sweaty, showing way too much thigh for comfort and with no make-up on. It's almost like a piece of her, the piece of her that cared too much, got damaged in the accident. She just doesn't right now.
"Lauren," Sasha says. His voice is low and soothing. It's comforting; almost a lullaby without the attempt to sing, but Lauren can't enjoy it. She's too on edge. The way she betrayed him (and Payson) always creeping to the front of her mind. "How are you?"
"Tired."
"Understandable," Sasha says with a nod. "I know you've been going through a lot these last few days, but there are some things we need to talk about, concerning your gymnastics and specifically what we're going to do about Worlds."
Thinking about it just makes everything hurt. It reminds Lauren of all the homeschooling sessions she's racked up over the years, sitting as one of her tutors drew equations on the board, shapes and degrees and calculations. Lauren has never been a fan of math or school, more gymnastics and boys. This right now feels like that multiplied by a billion.
"Listen, if you aren't up for it, Tessa—"
"No," Lauren says sharply, disgusted at the idea of being replaced. It's something that's become her life. Her mom replaced her with drugs. Her dad replaces her with work. Max replaced her with Payson. "No, Sasha, the team needs me! I worked hard for my spot on the Worlds team. I can't not go. Please."
"Maybe you should have had that in mind when you got in that car with a boy this close to a major competition," Sasha shoots back. Lauren shoulders the sting because she knows he has a point. Sasha sighs. This is hard for him, she can tell. "Lauren, I don't mean to be cruel…"
"I know. It was my mistake."
Lauren believes that. Every word. Every syllable. Now Max is dead because of it.
"My beam routine is all I think about," Lauren lies. For the short periods where she's been conscious in the last couple days, all she does it replay events of that night in her head, from being at the party to getting into her car to the crash. But that isn't going to impress Sasha right now. That isn't going to get her to Rio. "When I was in the hospital. All day today. I haven't been able to practice it physically, but I have been visualizing it and feeling what my body would do if I were really practicing. I want this, Sasha. I can do it."
"That's more than I could ever ask for, considering you just got out of the hospital," Sasha says. "I don't want you pushing yourself before you're ready. You're unbelievably lucky to have walked away from that accident fairly unscathed, but the emotional and mental toll is something different entirely. Firstly, it's up to you what you want to do, but ultimately it's up to me. I need to get you in the gym as soon as possible and see where you're at."
"Don't you think that's a little much?" Steve asks. "The doctors said—"
"I'll be there tomorrow morning," Lauren says, cutting her father off. She looks right at her coach, sitting up tall in her bed, determined. "I won't disappoint you again, Sasha."
"Lauren," Steve says louder, authoritative even. "The doctors said you need rest."
"I can rest on the plane," Lauren assures him, like that's enough, like she doesn't know how ludicrous her reasoning is. Lauren knows she has to at least try. "Dad, I know my body better than those doctors do. I know what I'm capable of. I can do this."
Steve doesn't even hold out for long. He gives in like he always does, like she always expects him to. "Okay," he says. "But the minute you feel overwhelmed or don't feel up to it…"
"Thanks, daddy," Lauren says cheerily. That's a constant, getting her way when it comes to her dad. In a universe that always seems to be throwing her for a loop, that consistency is a comfort. "I'll be there bright and early tomorrow, Sasha."
"Looking forward to it," Sasha says. There's doubt in his eyes, but Lauren will prove him wrong. She has to. "For now, I want you to get a goodnight's rest."
"Absolutely," she says.
After bidding her goodnight, Steve says he'll show him out and the two men disappear. Waiting a minute after her bedroom door closes behind them, Lauren slowly slides out of bed, carefully putting weight on her feet when she stands. She's been in bed for so long, she has to go slow just to be cautious. Her neck is sore and so is her back, but no sprains or fractures. Going to her mirror, Lauren slowly lifts her shirt, inspecting the discoloration, black and blue and every shade in between. How is it she walked away with these mere souvenirs and Max didn't walk away at all?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Tonight it seems she's a popular girl.
Without tearing her eyes away from the door, Lauren smooths her shirt down down and calls out, "Come in."
Lauren stares deep at the girl staring back at her, distracted only when she sees Kaylie behind her, looking worried (and still incredibly thin) in her fitted black track jacket with a hot pink stripe down each arm. Lauren turns to face her and Kaylie immediately walks over, embracing her. Lauren takes a deep breath and hugs her back, suppressing a wince when Kaylie's bony limbs brush her bruises. Though their friendship constantly shifts from shattering to stable day-to-day, Kaylie always comes through for her and Lauren always tries to do the same.
"Before you ask how I am, I already heard it a million times in the last few days, I'm sick of it, and, yes, I feel like crap and know I look like it too," Lauren says honestly. Once they pull away from the hug, Lauren moves back over to lie in her bed and Kaylie follows, sitting up beside her. "I don't want to talk about the accident right now. I...I can'ttalk about Max. There. Moving on. Tell me something I don't know."
Kaylie nods, respects Lauren's wishes and gently squeezes her arm.
"Well," Kaylie says. "Did you hear that Nicky Russo is back in town?"
Cortisone boy. Lauren didn't expect him to show his face in Boulder anytime soon. Or ever again.
"Why?"
"He's Max's cousin," Kaylie says quietly. Lauren pulls her unicorn closer to her and hugs it tight to her chest. It makes her realize how she doesn't know anything about Max's family. There's so much she doesn't know about him in general. "Nicky, he, uh, he's back to take care of all of Max's things and stuff. He got a lot cuter since the last time he was here." Lauren takes in Kaylie's little attempt at humor, trying to cheer her up, but the blonde just rolls her eyes. "What? Lo, I'm kidding."
"Uh-huh. Sure sounds like you're kidding. Whatever you say, Kay," Lauren says with playful sarcasm. She likes this. Maybe assimilating back into the real world, away from her darkness, won't be as painful as she originally anticipated. "If I'm not mistaken, isn't Austin Tucker your boy of the moment?"
"If you asked me a few days ago, I'd say yes, but now, I have no idea. As we speak, he's going to CU to pick up his cell phone that he left in a sorority house," Kaylie says, letting on that it bugs her and how she's helpless to the situation. "I'm worried about him. He showed up to the Rock, hungover, tried to kill Nicky when he was trying to clean out Max's locker. I want to help, but he wouldn't let me even if I tried…"
The little details distract Lauren. Nicky cleaned out Max's locker. That means, when she goes to the Rock in the morning, it'll be like Max was never even there.
"Lo…?"
"Sorry, what?" she says quickly.
"I ran into Sasha. He was leaving just as I got here," Kaylie says. They're on a completely different topic. Has Kaylie been talking this entire time? How long did she zone her out for? "Did he say anything about Worlds?"
"I'm going, as planned," Lauren says confidently. Kaylie looks at her wearily and Lauren gives her arm a squeeze of reassurance. "Kaylie, I'm fine. The country needs their Queen of the Beam and I don't plan to disappoint."
"And I'll be with you every step of the way," Kaylie assures her. "Oh, by the way, Payson wanted to be here right now, to see how you were doing, but she…uh…got caught up doing something…"
Kaylie's always been a poor liar. Lauren doesn't even have the energy to call her out on it.
"How is she?" Lauren asks. Curious, if anything. "Payson. How's she dealing?"
"Not as good as she wants everyone to believe," Kaylie replies. "I'm worried about her too. All of you."
And that's what makes Kaylie a good leader, how concerned she is about everyone, wanting to play shepherd to the loss little sheep. Lauren hasn't thought about Payson once in the last few days and she isn't sorry about it either.
"Kay, would your parents freak if I asked you to stay over tonight?" Lauren asks.
"I was hoping you'd say that," Kaylie says with a soft smile. "I already talked to them and packed a bag just incase."
Lauren extends one arm and Kaylie takes the cue, moving in to hug her. Despite their ups and downs (and they've had a lot of ups and downs) Lauren knows she'll always have Kaylie. As they both try to get some sleep in anticipation of the rough days ahead, Lauren realizes it's nice to not have to spend another night alone in the dark.
A/N: What do you think of Max and Nicky's family? If you think that's bad, wait till they meet Austin and Lauren. There's a really, really good chance there'll be a strip club next chapter and more from Austin/Payson…but those two things aren't related. At least, I don't think.
Reviews are greatly appreciated! xoxo
